


Meant to Fly

by mrhd



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up with some extra heavenly aspects he didn't have before he went in the ice. Tony can't let him have all the fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meant to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cap-Iron Man RBB 2013. Art here.

Tony’s obsession with flying started when he was little. No one asked him why and so no one ever knew that Tony’s obsession began because, out of the corner of his eye sometimes, he saw a man with wings hovering well off the ground.

Tony calls him “the flying man” in his mind until he’s a few years older and he hears the word “angel” for the first time. It just seems far more right. The first time he hears the term “guardian angel” he knows that he man he sees sometimes is his.

* * *

Steve had been raised religious. He had gone to church every Sunday, when he could. He’d prayed, on his knees as a child, and then over and over in his head as he charged into battle. Even as he angled the plane towards the ocean and faced death, he still believed.

He’s still not sure if he’d been wrong. He’s not sure about anything. The only concrete thought he has is the color white. It’s the only thing he’s sure of.

* * *

When Tony’s seven he runs away from his house, anything to escape his dad’s harsh words and the smell of alcohol and the overwhelmed expression on his mother’s face.

He doesn’t get very far. He’s small and not very fast and about two minutes after he disappears has dozens of trained security personnel on his tail.

There’s more shouting and his mom starts crying when he gets back home but Tony refuses to speak to anyone, a glare and a pout on his face, arms crossed angrily over his chest.

He can’t help thinking that he could have gotten away if he had wings.

* * *

The idea never really leaves him, and it isn’t long after he builds Dum-E that he starts wondering if he could build himself wings too.

The first thing he builds with the idea bouncing around in his head is a robotic ladybug. It takes him less than a day and flies perfectly. Dum-E snaps at the little robot with his hand and chases it all around the room.

His flying machines become larger and larger, warping slightly in shape with each model as Tony moves closer to a human shape, little by little. The closer he gets to a machine the size and shape of himself the more he realizes a very specific problem. It’s easy to screw wings onto the back of a metal robot and meld the metal together, but it’s another thing to attach metal wings to his body, to flesh and bone.

He wants to fly, wants to feel the air against the soles of his feet and watch everything disappear beneath him. But Tony’s nothing if not logical, and he knows that he can’t go through life with a pair of mechanical wings on his back. He needs them to stay attached, to be able to support his weight and fight against gravity, but he also needs them to come off easily.

So that’s two problems that he sets off to solve, but he’s distracted by two more things, both occurring in rapid succession.

The first is the car accident that kills his parents. He hasn’t seen or spoken to either of his parents in over a year and he thinks that he’s mostly just reeling from the shock, not from the grief. Overnight his personal worth skyrockets, he’s worth several billion dollars and a bunch of guys in suits dump a Fortune 500 company in his lap.

The second development comes not even a few weeks afterwards and is far more complicated.

* * *

Steve no longer has a sense of time. All he knows is whiteness and peace and then he feels a tugging sensation. Instinctually he struggles against it, a useless gesture as any sense of space had disappeared when he hit the ice. The surrounding whiteness begins to fade, into confusing colors and shapes and the less white there is the more he begins to panic and he starts to struggle in earnest.

The next thing he knows he’s lying on a hard surface. He can tell that it’s cool beneath his body, but he has the strange sense of warmth enveloping him anyways. The next thing he realizes is that his eyes are closed, so he opens them.

And is greeted with the sight of beautiful white feathers. He wants to take the time to examine them, but once he has his sense of sight under his control again he can smell and hear and his survival instincts kick in. He can smell medicine and metal and hear people conversing quietly, but urgently around him. He wants to get up and start fighting his way out, to a weapon, to some clothes, but he forces himself to stay still and listen; he might hear something useful. He lets his eyes slip close again.

“What did you do wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“Bullshit, you’ve fucked something up.”

“I did not.”

“Are you saying that he always had those?”

“No.”

“Then something with wrong when we tried to wake him up.”

“Obviously. That doesn’t mean that _I_ fucked up.”

Steve hears the other voice sigh. “Well what do we tell the boss? Did the experiment fail?”

“It didn’t fail! He’s not dead anymore is he?”

 _Not dead anymore_. Steve knows instinctively that phrase has to be important, but just as he’s frantically analyzing it someone says, “Are you stupid, he was never dead. You can bring someone back from the dead; he was just in suspended animation.”

It sounds like science-fiction to Steve. He wants write it off, but after all he did get in a technologically enhance coffin and come out with a totally different body so maybe he shouldn’t.

“Well we can’t tell him it worked.”

“Why not?”

The other speaker just makes a scoffing sound.

“We don’t have to tell anyone anything,” a third voice chimes in. “The boss is dead.”

There’s an uncomfortable sort of silence after that. Steve rather hopes that they decide to leave him alone so he can break out quickly and cleanly.

But someone else says, “There is a new boss.”

“He doesn’t even know this project exists!”

“So we tell him.”

The voices turn into murmurs of consent and grumbling and eventually they all leave the room, and Steve’s alone.

He lets his eyes open again, and is taken by the beautiful feathers. They’re not exactly white, like he’d first thought. They shimmer with light, a white light, sometimes catching on angles that make it look like he’s staring at rainbows. Steve reaches out his right hand to touch them, and jerks his hand back as soon as he does. He feels the sensation two-fold, his fingers can feel the incredible softness of the feathers; like nothing he’s ever touched, soft and perfectly smooth. But he can also feel the gentle press of his fingers. It’s like they’re setting off electricity, completely new nerves wired to his brain. He can feel his heart beating hard in his chest. He was never stupid, and the serum helps him think a little faster, a little clearer, and he connects the dots immediately. The feathers are his. Focusing, he tries to lift the curtain of feathers and it lifts easily. He can feel the air currents across the surface and feel the base of the new appendage stretch against the skin of his shoulder blade.

 _He has wings_. He was dead, and now he is alive, and he has wings.

* * *

Tony blinks at the two men in front of him. They’d flashed badges and the highest level security one could have and waltzed right into Tony’s new office. It’s not even fully set up yet; he’s just really starting to get into the nitty gritty of this CEO thing.

Although apparently even being CEO of the whole damn company wasn’t high enough clearance to know all of these secrets, because the men in front of him are telling him that they’ve spent the last forty or so years looking for Captain America’s body. Not only that, but they’ve found him and he’s still alive.

Tony thinks that, in light of the situation, he can be forgiven a few moments of shocked silence.

He then takes less than a second to panic about what he should do before he decides to fuck it and says, “I want to see him.”

One of the scientists nods like he expected this response, but the other fidgets nervously. “The retrieval may not have gone exactly as planned,” he mutters, not making eye contact with Tony.

“The retrieval?” Tony repeats.

“Well, he was mostly dead when we found him, sir.”

The first scientist looks distinctly nervous; like he’s afraid Tony might fire them for trying to reincarnate Captain America, and then doing so wrong.

He might.

“But other than one difference he’s exactly as he was when he went missing,” the second scientist adds hastily. “He hasn’t even aged.”

Tony recognizes the marvel in the man’s voice, knows the need to know why, the thrill of science behind the idea. He understands, but it doesn’t mean that the idea of these guys experimenting on Captain America doesn’t churn in his guy. “Just take me to him,” he sighs.

The walk down to the lab is utterly silent. The two scientists seem too scared to even look at Tony, much less speak to him, and Tony’s not sure what he would say to them.

Part of him is excited; Captain America was everyone’s boyhood hero, especially for Tony, who grew up with original posters and first-hand stories from his dad. It’s one of the few things they’d ever agreed on; that Captain America was great. The other part of him is nervous; what exactly is different about the man? Oh God, what if the idiots had brought him back without a head or some shit? Tony shivers at the thought of a headless body, but quickly reminds himself that Cap had only been _mostly_ dead when he’d been found. Surely if he’d been sans a head he would have been _completely_ dead. And what will Captain America think of him? Tony’s long come to terms with the fact that he’s brash and arrogant and talks too much and is hard to get along with. But he has the strangest need to be liked by this man he’s never met.

The elevator is coming to a stop at one of the basement labs before Tony has his thoughts in order. He decides to act like a professional, like a seasoned CEO instead of the unsure, slightly star-struck kid he really is.

All those thoughts go flying out the window the second a third scientist swipes her pass and lets Tony into the room with Captain America.

The first thing he notices is _white_ , and he knows that particularly, shimmering shade of white from the corner of his eyes in childhood.

On the metal table in the middle of the room, Steve Rogers turns around at the sound of the opening door.

His wings flap as his balance shifts.

It’s the most graceful, most beautiful thing Tony has ever seen, and something deep in him just knows that those moments, when he’d been scared and little and hurting and wanting so, so badly to get away, that Captain America had come to him, somehow.

 _A guardian angel_.

He can’t help gaping.

* * *

Steve turns around on the table when he hears the door open, and can’t help but be startled at the feel of his _wings_ , moving without conscious thought, as he shifts his weight around.

The sensation causes a half second delay in his reaction to the person in the doorway.

But as soon as he sees him, he _knows_ him. Images come into Steve’s mind, images of a little boy with the same big eyes, staring longingly into the distance, disappearing whenever he makes eye contact. He knows those eyes, and he knows that the person in front of him is the same boy, grown up now though. Steve’s age, maybe younger. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t help taking a few seconds just to stare and wonder how he knows, without a doubt, that he was always meant to find this other boy, here and now.

“Hi,” he manages to say. An easy greeting.

The boy blinks at him a few more times. “Hi,” he says back. His eyes dart from Steve’s face to his wings, briefly to his bare chest and then back to his wings again before returning to his face, an obvious effort to be polite.

Steve smiles at him. “I’m Steve,” he says. He’s hoping for a name in return, even though something in him is telling him he knows what it is already.

“I know,” is what he gets instead. Then the boy shakes his head slightly and adds, “Sorry. I mean: I’m Tony.”

 _Tony Stark_ , Steve knows instantly. “I’d say that it’s nice to meet you, Tony, but I feel like we’ve met before.” It’s a blatant way of fishing for information, Steve knows. But he’s determined that subtlety isn’t going to do any good in this situation.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, we haven’t really met, right?”

Steve’s all at once in complete understanding not sure what that means. He pauses before he responds and he can hear two of the scientists whispering behind Tony. “Would you mind giving us a minute?” he asks them.

The two whispers jump but their female colleague smiles politely and says, “Of course,” before shutting the lab door.

Once the echoing clang of the door fades away, the lab room is silent.

Tony fidgets, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. “I mean, I know who you are, of course, and you knew my dad, but you don’t know me.”

Steve opens his mouth to try and explain his sense of knowing, but what he says instead is, “When you were five you spent hours jumping off of your bed, trying to fly.”

Tony stares again, as surprised by the words as Steve. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, running a hand over his face.

Tony speaks quietly. “I wanted to fly so badly because I kept seeing something out of the corner of my eye. A man with wings.”

“Me,” Steve says, sure of it.

Tony nods. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Steve agrees, shrugging helplessly. The motion makes his wings stir behind him, moving the air.

Tony’s eyes go wide, and they’re drawn helplessly to the wings again. “Can I?” he asks, stretching his hand out slightly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He turns his head and watches Tony come approach his right wing, fingers outstretched to run lightly along the shimmering feathers.

Steve represses a shiver.

Tony presses harder, and then grabs one of the feathers between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting the different layers.

Steve gasps softly, unnerved by the new feeling that seems directly linked to the rest of his body. Frantically, he tries to think of other things to avoid an embarrassing situation.

“Sorry,” Tony says, making eye contact with Steve again. Steve isn’t sure if that’s better or worse. “Did that hurt?”

“No. Just…new nerve endings and everything. I’m not really…used to this.”

Tony frowns slightly and goes quiet, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly against the feather he’s still holding. Steve determinedly does not think about how _good_ it feels. When Tony lets go Steve is equal parts relieved and disappointed, but only for a second because then Tony’s fingers are tracing across the feathers up to the top of Steve’s wing. He presses slightly before taking his hand away. “Can I get up on table?” he asks, quiet. “To, um, to see closer?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, his voice equally quiet. There’s a kind of charged atmosphere in the room now and he’s terrified of what will happen if anything disturbs it.

Tony places both palms flat on the table and lifts himself up, settling on his knees. This way he’s a little taller than Steve, looking down at the wing.

Steve watches him; watches Tony bite his lip before he lets it go and he flattens a hand over the top ridge of Steve’s wing.

It’s a totally different sensation from feeling Tony’s touch on the feathers. That had been a kind of tingling, almost like a tickling sensation, this is much more grounded, much more like Tony is touching Steve’s own body, instead of a weird new appendage.

Steve swallows hard and sinks his teeth into his own bottom lip to keep from making any noises. Tony follows the arch of the top of the wing, moving slowly across the able on his knees to keep up with it; the wings are wide, as wide together as Steve is tall. _Wingspan_ , his mind supplies.

Soon Tony’s hand is brushing against the bare skin of Steve’s shoulder and then down, flattening over the part of his shoulder blade where the wing emerges. This touch isn’t new, but somehow equally electric.

He must make some sort of motion, because Tony jerks his hand back so fast he almost topples off the table.

Steve reaches out to grab him and he does manage to secure his hand around Tony’s bicep, but his wings come forward too, sweeping around Tony and ending up sort of forming a cradle around him.

“Um,” Steve says. “I didn’t know they would do that.”

To his surprise, Tony laughs and the weird charged atmosphere dissipates quickly. “That was awesome,” he says. “The shimmering looked awesome in motion.”

Steve laughs too, surprising himself. He pulls the wings back behind him and lets go of Tony’s arm.

Tony hops off the table. “So, imagine. In all of those stories about Captain America that my dad told me not one mentioned that he had wings.”

“I didn’t.”

“An unforeseen side effect of the super soldier serum?”

“Nope. An unforeseen side effect of being resurrected after several decades encased in ice.”

“Never heard of ice giving someone angel wings before.”

“Angel wings?” Steve repeats.

Tony breaks eye contact and fidgets. “Well…okay this is going to sound really weird but that shimmering, it reminded me, that I used to see it all the time when I was little, out of the corner of my eye. I started calling the guy I saw my guardian angel.” He looks determinedly at the wall above Steve’s head.

“That makes sense,” Steve says.

Tony’s attention snaps back to him. “It does?”

“When you walked in I…” Steve hesitates, struggling to phrase it correctly. “I recognized you immediately. I remembered, somehow, this little boy I’d seen before and I knew you were him.”

Tony studies Steve’s face carefully. “So either we’re both crazy, or neither of us is.”

“I hope it’s the second option.”

Tony laughs and smiles and Steve smiles back. Although he can’t help that his smile falters when Tony walks away from him and raps twice against the lab door.

The female scientist opens it promptly. “Yes, Mister Stark?”

Tony tilts his head slightly and shifts so he’s partially facing Steve again. Steve can see that he’s smiling with a cocky sort of grin. The effect is actually charming, rather than obnoxious. “Give me everything you have on him,” he says, tilting his head at Steve as a gesture.

“Of course, Mister Stark. Jason!” One of the other scientists comes hurrying over to the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Mister Stark wants to see everything we have on the Captain.”

“I’ll get all of it,” Jason says, hurrying away.

Tony meets Steve’s eyes.

 _Mister Stark?_ Steve mouths.

Tony smirks.

Steve bites his lip and laughs silently.

Jason comes rushing back in, this time with a large folder. “Here you go, Mister Stark.”

Tony takes the folder from him and flips to the back of the folder. Steve watches his eyes flick back and forth across several pieces of paper in record time. “Well, I don’t see anything wrong with him.” He shuts the folder dramatically. “Wanna stay at my mansion?”

Steve blinks.

The scientist says, “Mister Stark? There is still one issue…”

Tony flaps his hand. “That’s minor. He’s is better physical condition than anyone else on the planet.”

“Yes, but-”

 “There’s no reason for him to be in a lab.”

The scientist shuts her mouth and nods. “There isn’t,” she agrees.

“Cool.” Tony turns to Steve. “You, are gonna need some clothes. Not that I’m not enjoying the view…”

Steve laughs. “No, clothes would be good.”

“I’ll be right back,” Tony says. “With clothes. Carry on everyone!”

With a wave and a wink at Steve Tony sweeps out of the room.

* * *

Tony’s really glad he hired a personal assistant. He’s able to send her out to the department store with Steve’s measurements and the request to buy a few pairs of pants and some shirts, a size or two up from the measurements.

Pepper, his PA, gives him a severe look before she heads out, heels clicking.

Fiercely efficient, Pepper’s back in under an hour.

Tony beams at her and raises her pay.

She rolls her eyes but fails to hide a pleased little smile.

Tony grabs the bags of clothes and takes them down the lab.

Steve’s still sitting on the table, wings spread out to the sides, hands folded politely in his lap, and his legs tucked up under him. He’s still naked except for the blanket over his lap.

Tony holds up the bag and winks at Steve.

Steve smiles back at him.

“Clothes,” Tony says. “I had Pepper get shirts in a whole bunch of different sizes; I’m not sure what will fit your wings.”

Steve’s wings flutter, Tony wonders if it’s conscious.

“Let me see,” Steve mutters, and Tony watches as he pulls his wings together, resting them against his back. They fit easily, if still a bit wider than Steve’s torso. They are going to have to go up a size or two.

Tony pulls one of the larger shirts out of the bag and throws it at Steve.

Steve pulls it on and Tony can’t help admiring the way the muscles of his torso flex and move. The shirt is stretched tight across the point almost midway down Steve’s torso, where he bulge of the wings is, and the outline is visible. Steve chuckles uncomfortably. “Up one more size?”

Tony goes into the bag intending to get another shirt, but he finds something else instead. He smiles and thinks about upping Pepper’s pay some more. “Here, try this,” he says, tossing it at Steve.

It’s an old-fashioned jacket, made to look like period military. Steve shrugs it on and hot damn, it’s loose enough that the silhouette of the wings is hidden, but it’s not extraordinarily so. It still manages to make Steve look absolutely edible.

Tony gives a low whistle and Steve blushes, which is just, _yes_.

Tony grins at Steve. “Lookin’ good, soldier.”

Steve is still blushing but he holds his hand out and says, “Pants please,” in an even voice.

Tony laughs and throws Steve a pair of dark slacks that match the jacket.

Steve turns his finger in a circle; gesturing for Tony to turn around while he puts on his pants.

“Spoil my fun,” Tony says as he turns around.

Behind him he hears Steve laugh. “You can turn around now, Tony.”

Tony turns around and can’t help smiling.

“Tony,” Steve says. He sounds annoyed and he’s not making eye contact with Tony, but he’s smiling.

Tony thinks he’s kidding. “And a sense of humor too, you really are the whole package.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Come on, big guy,” Tony says. “Ever seen a mansion?”

“I’ve seen The White House,” Steve says.

“My house is bigger,” Tony says, opening the lab door and letting Steve through first.

“Thank you, good sir,” Steve says, adopting a higher voice.

Tony rolls his eyes and smacks Steve’s ass.

Steve yelps in surprise and spins around.

Tony laughs and shoves Steve between the shoulder blades.

* * *

Steve has to admit that he’s never even seen a place like Tony’s. He’s having trouble believing that such a building even exists, much less that it’s a private residence. He remembers two or three families living together in an apartment with only six rooms. But he removes that thought with a quick shake of his head. That was then and this is now. He’s already hesitated enough; Tony is standing a few feet in front of him, giving him a confused look.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says. Determined to make the best of where he is.

“Do you want to see my lab?” Tony asks, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“Is it like the one back at that office building?” Steve asks.

“Nope. Not a medical lab,” Tony promises. “I’m an engineer.”

Steve remembers being small and scrawny and lost in a crowd of people watching Howard Stark showboating. “Do you have a flying car?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony says. “I should. I don’t, but I should. I do, however, have a bunch of other shit that flies. Do you wanna see?”

“Yes,” Steve says, indescribably excited.

Tony’s lab is indeed nothing like the lab Steve had woken up in. That room had been dark and sterile and empty. Tony’s lab is easily four times the size and overflowing with things. There’s a whirring noise and a robot comes wheeling out of nowhere to crash into Tony’s side.

Steve laughs.

“This is Dum-E,” Tony says, patting the robot on its top.

Steve is taken with the little robot; he’s never seen anything quite like it. It doesn’t look like Tony’s controlling it at all, rather that it’s controlling itself.

But the little independent bot isn’t the only thing making noise in the lab. It seems like everything is blinking or beeping. Steve sees a few more robots moving around on the floor but it’s not just the floor that’s covered in things, the walls are too, as well as the multiple long work tables. Steve can’t decide where to look first. He flicks his eyes back and worth, turning his head, and inevitably his eyes are drawn to the familiar.

“My shield,” he notices, hanging on the wall.

Tony’s head snaps up from the little robot and follows his gaze. “A prototype,” he corrects. “No vibranium in that one.”

It’s not even finished. It’s the same size and shape of Steve’s shield, but only half of it is painted in the Captain America design, the other half is just wires; and unfinished shell. Instantly Steve’s hands start itching for the straps of the shield across his shoulders. He fiddles with his jacket instead.

He averts his eyes, turning his head, still determined not to think about what had been.

On the opposite wall hangs another, unfinished design. Still familiar to Steve, but in a brand new way. A pair of mechanical wings.

Tony follows his gaze again and smiles softly. “I told you that I saw this flying man when I was little. I always wanted to be like him.”

“Are they for you?”

“In theory,” Tony says. “They’re not done and I’m not sure how to secure myself to them, and I don’t know if they can hold my weight.”

“They’ll work,” Steve says, absolutely sure of it but unable to explain why.

* * *

It’s Steve’s complete certainty that makes Tony absolutely determined not to fail. He can’t really explain it to himself, but he can’t let Steve down. It’s hard for him to balance his determination to finish a project with having a housemate. If he disappears for more than a day and a half Steve comes looking for him, looking all concerned and Tony feels bad for worrying him.

Pepper thinks this development is fantastic; whenever Steve manages to fish Tony out of his lab she’s always there with papers to sign and a “ _Please_ , go to this meeting, Tony.”

As a result, progress on his wings is not going as fast as he’d imagined it would. So he builds a miniature flying car for Steve too, to show that he really is doing something.

Steve laughs when Tony shows it to him and thanks him.

Tony’s not sure a thank you is really required for a small toy, no one but his mom has ever thanked him for the things he builds, so he hurries back down to his lab to avoid trying to understand Steve’s gratitude.

This lasts for as long as it normally does before Steve drags Tony out, this time with a request for help.

Tony agrees easily, but is thrown when Steve pulls him into the mansions gym. It’s not exactly a room Tony uses a lot. “Um, Steve,” he says. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly the working out type.”

Steve smiles. “No, I was thinking that…I want to try flying.” Steve pulls his shirt off-which is always a sight to enjoy to be sure-and unfurls his wings behind him. “I haven’t actually tried it yet.”

“You’ll be able to,” Tony says, as sure as Steve had sounded when he’d promised Tony that his mechanicals wings would work.

“I just thought mats would be a good idea. In case,” Steve gestures to the floor of the gym.

Tony notices belatedly that it’s covered in gymnastic mats. “And I’m here to help with…”

“Moral support.” Steve smiles and Tony can’t help smiling back. It’s like an instinct.

“Well, show me what you got,” Tony says.

Steve sets his shoulders back into perfect posture and then hesitates. He blushes when he catches Tony’s gaze and closes his eyes.

Tony doesn’t laugh or say anything sarcastic, he just keeps his breathing quiet and even. He’s not nervous at all, not even for Steve’s sake. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is of Steve’s flight. After all, what are wings for?

Steve’s wings flap once, almost experimentally, but he doesn’t rise from the floor. Steve rises up on his toes and flaps the wings again, this time angled farther downwards, far more deliberate, but still Steve doesn’t fly.

Tony’s torn between saying something encouraging or teasing. So he just says, “Steve.”

“Shh, Tony,” Steve whispers. “I’m concentrating.”

Tony laughs, not meanly, just lightly.

“Tony, stop.”

“Hey, I could leave, but since you’re the one who called me up here…”

Steve sighs, his shoulders getting in on the action, and this time he actually lifts off the ground a bit before coming back down.

Tony laughs again, this time in delight. “Okay, now I get why you need me.”

Steve blushes slightly, and Tony will never tire of that. “You’re extraordinarily frustrating sometimes, Tony.”

“So I’ve been told,” Tony says. “But you were so annoyed with me you flew! Which is a new reaction.”

Steve smiles and relaxes, even as he rolls his eyes.

* * *

After that, it gets surprisingly easy. It turns out flying isn’t even something Steve has to think very hard about. His brain seems to know instinctively how to control the wings, and as long as he keeps his thought process out of the way of his instincts he can fly.

Taking off is the easiest part. Landing is also easy, if only because if something goes wrong he lands no matter what. It’s kind of the default, due to gravity. Changing altitude without falling to the ground is harder, but not terribly so. The hardest thing is, by far, changing directions. It’s actually frustrating. Even when Steve turns off his brain and focuses solely on wanting to go to the left nothing happens. He tries taking off at an angle, but that doesn’t help either.

Tony tries to help by launching into a long lecture about the science and physics behind flight and how birds and airplanes do it, but Steve doesn’t understand most of it. He tries leaning into it, twisting his body around, to no avail. Tony insists that he needs to switch his thinking from upright meaning feet towards the ground, head towards the sky, and try flying on his stomach. Every time Steve tries that though, he ends up falling.

And then he enters the gym one day, intending to practice, to find Tony already there, leaning against the wall with a smug smile on his face.

“All the mats are gone,” Steve tells him, even though he’s 100% sure that Tony’s the one who’d removed the mats in the first place.

Tony grins and says, “Oh, wow, they are.” He doesn’t even try to be convincingly surprised.

Steve frowns at him. They’ve had this conversation before. Tony thinks that without a safety net that Steve will be forced to fly effortlessly. And Steve knows that the serum will protect him from damage and repair any that might result from a fall, but Steve’s still nervous about it. So maybe he has a thing about falling ever since he flew an airplane purposely into a body of water. But he’s not about to tell Tony that so he just lifts off the ground and hovers for a few seconds.

He relaxes; he loves being in the air, he loves it. He likes the feeling of being surrounded by nothing but air, the light feeling that comes with it. He likes hearing his breath sync with the beat of his wings, which are in turned synced to the beat of his heart. It makes him feel whole. Maybe he can do this.

He shuts his eyes, hoping that without visuals to tell him the correct up and down that being on his stomach won’t bother him so much. It doesn’t really work; lying slightly forward changes the way his wings flap; the pull gravity is different. Steve feels the anxiety creepy back in, destroying his light, happy feeling. He forces himself to concentrate on his breath and nothing else, trying to keep his mind off of anything but flying. “Hey, Tony?” he asks.

“Yeah?” he hears. He’s grateful for the echo of the gym; he can’t tell where exactly Tony’s voice is coming from, it helps with his attempt to forget about where the ground is.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“Okay, yeah, I can do talking,” Tony says. But then he asks, “Are you alright?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says, insistent. The anxiety is getting worse.

“Okay, sorry,” Tony says, voice fast. That’s good, it means he’s about to start rambling, which is exactly what Steve wants. He lets Tony’s words wash over them, concentrates on Tony’s voice without concentrating on the words themselves. He listens to Tony’s pauses and his pitch and the rhythm of his speech. It’s something totally unique to Tony; he talks like no one else Steve has ever heard and somehow that’s comforting. He doesn’t know why, or maybe he does deep down, but he doesn’t have to focus on that, not now.

“And, oh, you don’t even realize it do you,” Tony continues. “You don’t notice what you do to me and you don’t realize that you’re flying through the air do you? That’s ridiculous, how are you good at everything without even trying? Like when you try it just gets in the way I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Steve replies absently, before he backtracks through Tony’s babble and processes the meaning. “Oh, am I flying?”

Tony laughs at that and Steve lets the bright sound of Tony’s laugh fill him up and takes the chance to open his eyes.

Tony was absolutely right of course. Steve’s not hovering over one spot like he normally does (Tony had teased him about being a helicopter once), he’s bobbing up and down a little, but he’s mostly going from side to side, almost as if he’s swaying in midair. He laughs too, please with himself. “Go stand over there,” He tells Tony, pointing to the wall to his left.

“Why?” Tony asks, even as he obeys.

“I’m going to try to fly to you,” Steve says.

Tony stops about five feet from Steve, positioned so he makes a ninety degree angle with Steve’s body, so Steve can’t see him unless he turns his head. Or if he leans to the left and turns around so he can switch directions. He wants to laugh because the solution was so simple, so obvious. He just has to turn while leaning slightly in the direction he wants to go. He flies to Tony easily and hovers before him.

Tony tilts his head up to look at him.

Steve seizes an impulsive idea and puts his hand out.

Tony looks at his hand, and then back to Steve’s face, a tilt to his head that means he’s thinking.

Steve rolls his eyes affectionately. “Take my hand,” he says. “I want to see if I can fly with someone else.”

He notices Tony’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard, but Tony puts his hand in Steve’s anyways. His hand is cooler, rougher, and smaller than Steve’s own. “Promise not to drop me?”

Steve wants to make a joke, but something compels him to be frightfully honest instead. “I’d never hurt you,” he promises.

Tony blushes, barely noticeable pink staining across his cheekbones. Sometimes Steve envies Tony’s darker complexion; his own blush is far too obvious. He flies in closer to Tony, close enough to see his blush more clearly, close enough to count his eyelashes and feel his breath. Close enough to kiss. “Put your arm around my shoulders,” Steve says, landing so he’s not towering above Tony.

Tony does, stepping even more in Steve’s personal space and hooking his arm around Steve’s shoulders. His other hand is still holding Steve’s. Logically Steve knows that his own body temperature runs higher than normal because of his serum. But Tony’s arm across the bare skin of his shoulders and his neck feels incredibly warm. He’s never really thought about the implications of being shirtless whenever he uses his wings before this moment.

It’s easy to lift Tony; Steve had known that wouldn’t be a problem. His super strength makes it easy. His wings are apparently graced with the same mathematically perfection as the rest of Steve’s body and he doesn’t even feel Tony’s extra weight as a burden. It’s simple for Steve to lift them both off the ground and sweep through the air a little.

Tony laughs, loud and delighted. “I wanted to fly since the first time I ever saw you out of the corner of my eye,” he admits. “I always thought of flight as a sort of freedom.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Tony nods. He hesitates; Steve can feel his body stiffen briefly, before he presses his lips to Steve’s.

Steve feels his body heat up and he gasps against Tony’s lips.

Tony tries to pull back but he can’t go far and Steve kisses him this time, hoping desperately that he won’t send them both tumbling out the sky.

* * *

Flying with Steve just makes Tony even more determined to have his own pair of wings. He has to be careful about it, though. As much as he just wants to lock himself up in his lab and not leave until he can fly, he also doesn’t want to hurt Steve feelings.

He wants to keep kissing Steve even more than he wants to keep flying, so he limits his time in the lab. It’s hard, there’s an itch under his skin sometimes. And he knows that Steve would understand, but he wants to surprise Steve, doesn’t want to talk and explain what he’s trying to do until he can.

So it’s slow going, but it’s going.

Tony eventually figures out a harness that he can attach the wings to, that can go across his shoulders and under his arms to wrap around his chest. He always pulls the belt across his chest a little tighter than he strictly needs to; just to make sure his wings won’t slip off and send him to the ground. He has pull mechanisms that dangle from the apparatus to roughly where his hands are that can control the motor that controls the wings, as well as buttons on each side that do the same thing.

The first time Tony takes off in the lab he actually whoops in joy. He manages to turn himself around, not as gracefully as Steve does but he still does it, and look at himself in the mirror.

It looks really fucking awesome.

After that the itch to work turns into the itch to show off and he only about three days of testing later he calls Steve into the gym to meet him. He takes off as soon as Steve says he’s coming and is hovering high up out of Steve’s eyesight when Steve comes in.

He scans the room, a frown on his face. “Tony?” he calls out.

“Yes?” Tony says, landing hard in front of Steve.

Steve gapes at him. “Tony, what?”

Tony giggles, half nerves and half excitement. “I told you I’d always wanted to fly.”

Steve reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers across Tony’s wings. He can’t feel the touch through the wings of course, but he can feel Steve’s arm against his. “You built these?” Steve says, voice soft.

“Yep,” Tony says. “Pretty good huh? See that bump in the back, in the middle there, that’s an engine. It powers the wings. I managed to add a whole bunch of sound dampeners in and around it so it doesn’t make noise and I can control it with these strings here and these buttons-”

Tony doesn’t get to finish his explanation because Steve kisses him.

“Let’s fly together,” Steve whispers in Tony’s ear, their heads pressed together.

There’s a ripping sound and Steve’s wings come into view, literally tearing through his shirt and _wow that’s hot_.

Steve laughs and kisses Tony’s temple, and Tony realizes that he’s spoken out loud.

“Up we go,” Steve says, taking Tony’s hands in his and lifting them off with one powerful flap of his wings.

Tony still has the strings in his hands and he manages to hold his own, up in the air. Not that it really matters, he knows Steve will catch him if he falls.


End file.
